


Indech Incognito

by Iniuria_Talis



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Advent Calendar, Fluff, Gen, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 15,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21641740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iniuria_Talis/pseuds/Iniuria_Talis
Summary: As part of an old Ethereal Moon celebration, the students of Garreg Mach agree to each make a gift for one of their classmates. Some have an easier time than others.
Comments: 80
Kudos: 246





	1. Chapter 1

“I think it would be wonderful to see you all exchanging gifts,” Byleth had said, one of those painfully rare smiles radiating out to kill any shred of resistance the three house leaders might have felt.

And so now, the three house leaders had a dilemma before their whole-grade meeting.

“Resurrecting the traditions of Saint Indech would be a wonderful way to bond,” Dimitri argued. “Personal, well-thought-out presents delivered on the day after the ball could make for quite the fun occasion.”

“It seems like quite the time commitment to find so many gifts, though. Not to mention money. There are much more pressing matters I’d prefer to focus on,” Edelgard replied. “It would be nice to do something, though. I’d hate to disappoint…” (the professor) “…anyone.”

“Well then,” Claude said, an evil-looking grin on his face. “It just so happens that I have a solution.”

He pulled up a sack filled with small slips of paper, each one emblazoned with a name. “Teach wants us members of different houses to get closer, right? What better way than leaving it all to fate?”

A sense of foreboding swept over his two counterparts, but neither of them argued. With a few nods, the deal was struck.

The Secret Saint exchange was in motion.

* * *

“Rule one!” Claude cried with a flourish towards the list written on the chalkboard. “Each of us will draw a single name. Until the ball has passed, nobody participating must know who you picked! It is a secret you must guard with your life.”

“Why?” Hilda asked, her hand half-raised lazily.

“Because this is a test. An ultimate exercise in how well you know your classmates, and if you don’t, then how well you can learn. The gifts you give must come from you and your heart!” Claude seemed oddly into this, in Hilda’s opinion. This was clearly a front for a scheme of some sort. Oh, well, too much effort to get to the bottom of it.

“Rule two,” Dimitri continued when it was clear that Claude had finished. “Each gift must be something that you make yourself. We understand that not everyone has equal means to purchase an expensive present, so it seems much fairer to take funds out of the equation. It doesn’t even need to be a physical object, as long as it’s a thoughtful, personalized gift.”

“If I get a cute girl, then does a date count?”

“Sylvain, it must be a thoughtful and personalized gift.”

“So is that a yes, or…”

“And the final rule,” interjected Edelgard, a sort of fire burning behind her eyes. “The reason you all must try your best, no matter who you may draw or who may draw you. The one who gives the ultimate gift, the one whose kindness and closeness to their fellow classmates surpasses that of all others, will win the prize of a month’s worth of extra training sessions from Professor Byleth in whatever area you wish!”

And just like that, even the students who had seemed to tune out the proceedings were suddenly alert and calculating. Nobody, no matter their temperament, could resist the lure of so much extra time with the Monastery’s most beloved teacher. Even Linhardt and Bernadetta’s faces had begun to show signs of interest.

Edelgard smiled. “The game is on, then. Take your name, and bring your best. Just don’t expect to defeat me!”

* * *

Hubert had already been banned by his Lady from throwing the contest in order to help her. Still, there was the chance that he would draw her name and be given the chance to spoil her with something as luxurious as she deserved.

Ferdinand drew a slip of paper, and broke into a grin as soon as he read the name. Leaping up and pointing at Edelgard, he cried, “Challenge accepted!”

Well, so much for that then. Hubert held back a grimace as he looked at the name that he had drawn. Did he really need to spend care and effort finding a gift for someone like that?

Sylvain groaned outwardly. He’d wanted a cute girl, not the exact opposite. “Hey,” he muttered, nudging Felix. “You want to trade?”

“I’m fine,” Felix replied, completely impassive.

“You got someone really easy, didn’t you? Come on, be a pal. You’re just going to get whoever a weapon or something anyway!”

“I can’t say who I got,” Felix said again, beginning to smirk a little. “Besides, I’m sure your name can’t be that bad. If it is, try asking Ingrid if she—”

He held back a sharp pause after gesturing to their other childhood friend. Ingrid had adopted a face and posture of pure evil triumph. Although she was not outwardly laughing maniacally, the shadow in her eyes (as Felix and Sylvain knew far too well) spoke of vengeance, justice, and dark deeds to come.

“On second thought,” Sylvain told Felix, “maybe it’d be best for me not to interfere with this stuff.”

Dorothea giggled at the despairing faces that some of her fellow students had adopted. “You don’t need to be so down, just focus on your strengths. I’m sure that whoever I get would love a concert or a dance---” She opened her paper. “Oh.” A homicidal aura suddenly bust forth from where she was sitting. “Oh, well then.”

Leonie’s pout, Claude’s smirk, and the absolute glee in Hilda’s eyes did little to dispel Marianne’s despair. She already felt sorry for whoever it was that she had gotten; nobody deserved a gift as awful and cursed as hers was sure to be.

“Cheer up,” Raphael told her with a soft nudge to her shoulder. “It’s a fun game! It’s all about making everyone happy!”

Marianne knew that he was right. This was a holy game, named for a Saint and designed to spread friendship and cheer. Gingerly, she opened the small piece of paper she’d drawn…

And her eyes widened.


	2. Petra's Gift

Petra was quite pleased about the name she’d drawn. It seemed like the perfect challenge: someone she knew, but not too well. Someone whose heart she could glimpse, but not clearly.

And most importantly, she’d reflected as she laid the colored yarns out in their pattern, someone who was sure to appreciate the beauty of traditional Brigid workmanship.

Now, if only a suitable bird would fly past the oak bough she was currently sitting upon.

Feathers for a suitable Brigid cloak seemed to be very hard to find outside of Brigid. For one, none of the native Fodlanese birds had feathers as long and colorful as some of the more extravagant species of Brigid. For another point, all hunting had to be done a decent way from the monastery, lest she make Marianne cry again.

And even then, some birds were unexpectedly off-limits to the newcomer Petra. She remembered taking aim at a fine specimen months ago, only for her Fodlanese guide to slap her bow away before she could fire her arrow. “Don’t you dare hurt FEH!”

It had taken weeks before she understood why the Flying Epistle Holders were considered so sacred, but looking back she relished the learning opportunity. She had wondered beforehand why people seemed to treasure the feathers they’d naturally shed, after all. There were cultures where owls were protected messengers, just like there were cultures where they were yet another piece of honored prey. In the same way, her own tree-climbing culture could both teach and learn from Claude’s ways.

A quack rang out, and like a flash her arrow flew.

Well, duck feathers weren’t quite the standard for decorative clothing, but they would have to do. Claude didn’t seem the type to worry overmuch about materials, anyway.


	3. Dimitri's Gift

Dimitri did not appreciate that the blacksmith and her apprentices were now apparently taking bets about him.

“Okay, Your Highness! Try that again with the black sand steel.”

Dimitri waited for the metal to heat properly, and when it had just the right glow he brought it to the anvil. He swung down his hammer…

And once again the axehead exploded. The smith collected some gold from the young man next to her, then addressed Dimitri. “Yep, a little too much force again. We’ll have to restart from scratch. Again.”

It was a sad fact of Dimitri’s life that his great strength made him unsuited to most handicrafts. He tended to break the delicate tools they all seemed to require, and even his attempts at carpentry didn’t tend to survive the first strike of a hammer.

He’d thought it was a blessing that he’s drawn Caspar, who would surely love a newly forged weapon, but a floor full of glowing shards of hot metal had disabused him of that notion.

The blacksmith cleared her throat. “If I may offer a humble opinion, Your Highness, I think that you suck at this too much to make any form of blade.”

Dimitri’s shoulders fell. “Is there something easier I could try?”

The blacksmith looked pensive, then excited. “Perhaps… a shield? But it would have to be a special one.”

Dimitri nodded at her. “That sounds excellent! What do I need to do?”

The blacksmith smirked at him, then gestured to the assistant she’d won money off before. “I need you to go to Anna. Tell her we need… that ore.”

A rush of fear and determination flew through Dimitri at her tone. As long as he got a present out of it, then anything was worth a shot, right?


	4. Marianne's Gift

“Dorte,” Marianne told her favorite horse as she ran a brush through his mane, “I’m conflicted.”

“Neigh,” said Dorte, in a way that seemed to imply that he would love and accept Marianne no matter what.

“Thank you,” Marianne replied. “But this gift contest… I can’t help but think that I’ll have to do something bad.”

Dorte nudged her, in a way that she interpreted as questioning.

“Well, I was worried that if I tried to make a gift, it would just be cursed and bring nothing but misfortune. But…I think that the person I got would actually like that?”

She had been prepared to give whoever she drew the gift of staying away from them. But Hubert was different. If there was one person who’d love an object imbued with bad luck and misery, it was him.

But even so, wasn’t it disgusting of her to use her Crest and its associated misfortune on purpose? What if it just brought Hubert bad luck, and not his enemies? What if she was cursed in such a way that things that she wanted to be cursed weren’t cursed, and she’d be cursing Hubert with a curseless gift?

Curses, this was hard.

And suddenly Dorte raised his head and whinnied threateningly. The horses in the stalls around them began to shriek and rear up. The stable cats began to hiss, and the dogs to bark.

Marianne whirled around, knowing what she would see. Hubert stood at the entrance, looking petulantly at a small dog that was growling at his ankles.

“Ah! I’m sorry, but what are you doing here?”

“I was searching for…materials, to help make my gift. But it seems I am unwelcome here, so excuse me.”

As she stroked Dorte and waited for the other animals to quiet down, Marianne made her decision. There was no way that even she could curse someone like Hubert.

She considered different types of staff wood, and wondered if there were any in black.


	5. Bernadetta's Gift(s)

Bernadetta was going to fail miserably.

She knew that she was experienced with arts and crafts, and that Ignatz was not known for being overly picky, but he was the son of a merchant! He’d immediately notice that her craftsmanship was ugly and uninspired, and he’d be heartbroken at her terrible gift, and she’d be kicked out of school for disrespecting Indech, the Saint whose Crest she bore! Or maybe they’d just kill her on the spot!

No, she couldn’t let that happen.

Her first idea was a glasses case. She whittled it out of dark Nordasalat wood, carved a deer on the top surrounded by trees, and lined the inside with soft yellow velvet to cushion the spectacles.

No Bernie, that’s stupid! He must already have a case, and he’ll only be a Golden Deer for a few more months! It’ll be worthless to him like that!

Next she decided to cast some plates of a light ceramic, five of them. Once they were dry, she painted a stylized portrait of a Saint on each. Ignatz was always looking at religious art.

Which means that he’s already seen much better, Bernie! And are you really giving him something so delicate before he’ll need to travel home!?

After she made a sturdy jacket of bright cloth in a style that she’d seen many merchant wear to meet with her father, she realized that the measurements she used might have been off, and the coats might be out of style by now.

A stuffed menagerie of plushies made based on the monastery’s animals took her until she had finished the wyvern and set him besides the cat, horse, pegasus, and dog before she realized he’d think she was calling him childish.

That gem-encrusted medallion would clearly just be throwing her noble wealth in his face, and was added to the growing pile, next to a dramatized narrative of their school year and an embroidered silk napkin set.

As she set upon her next try, Bernadetta hoped that she’d still be able to fit in her room once she had exhausted all her ideas.


	6. Ashe's Gift

Ashe knew that he had to be quick. He knew they would be able to find him, be able to tell what he had. If they caught up to him, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight.

It was late and dark, so every step he took seemed magnified. He knew that they could hear him much better than he could hear them, so he couldn’t afford to let the heavy bag weigh him down, to be delayed for anything.

It was a lifetime ago that he’d learned to do this with guards, this darting about in the shadows, glancing out for anyone to intercept or obstruct him. Back then the guards had been much more predictable, and—

There! The sound of heavy breathing rang out, and Ashe literally jumped onto the wall to avoid the sniffing dog. After a few minutes of investigation, the dog trotted off, its tail hanging with disappointment. It looked like it deserved a scratch, at least, for its efforts—but no. He was on a mission, and he had to resist.

Ashe waited a while after it was gone before letting himself to the ground as quietly as possible, adjusting the bag on his shoulder to keep the weight even. He was in the final stretch, now, but Ashe knew that the area around the pond was the most treacherous of all. He knew exactly what was waiting there, exactly what was always waiting: but this time, he had something to protect.

Ashe decided the best course of action would be to sprint for it.

He turned the corner, and immediately heard little mews of question. He knew that he couldn’t look down, or he’d be lost. He was up the stairs in a flash, nearly at the entrance to the dining hall.

Blast, the door was locked! Desperately, Ashe knocked loudly, hoping that there was someone to let him inside.

And then he felt a couple of small paws batting at his legs.

Almost involuntarily, Ashe looked down.

It was an Ordelion he knew well, an affectionate, sweet little thing. She looked up at him with sad, wide eyes, and gave a longing little, “Mew?”

In the face of such a good kitty, Ashe was helpless. He felt his hands reach into the pack, his fist closing around a venison flank. He slowly began to draw it out when the door opened.

The brief distraction broke the trance. Ashe sprinted inside, past the confused night janitor, and slammed the door behind him.

He'd made it. He'd gotten the food there without giving a scrap away. He had to pause a few seconds, to collect himself and resist the urge to let the cat back in for a treat.

The bag of game went straight to the cold storehouse, safe in the little nook that the chefs had agreed to lend Ashe. It was enough to feed most people, but for Raphael? Ashe knew that he’d have to make many more trips for many more types of meat, for a perfect protein-filled surf-and-turf meal that would give his hungry classmate the feast of his dreams.

And if, to quell his aching conscience, Ashe also happened to make a little extra for the local dogs and cats? Well, he was sure Raphael wouldn’t mind.


	7. Claude's Gift

It wasn’t like the whole game was a scheme. Sure, Claude may have folded one piece of paper in a slightly different way to get the recipient that he wanted, but it was something that the whole class could enjoy, and it made Teach happy!

But he couldn’t deny that the excuse to snoop it gave him was a huge part of it.

“I’m only trying to observe Flayn so I can get her a fantastic present!” Claude told the irate Seteth. “You must have heard of the contest, right? If I want to win and make her happy, I can’t make just anything, you know?”

Seteth glared down at Claude. “I’m sure there are better ways to learn her interests than spying on her as she leaves class. Have you considered asking, perchance?”

“That’s against the rules, you know. Gotta be as covert as possible,” Claude said with a wink. He knew that getting Seteth on his back would make investigating his mysterious sister and her tantalizing secrets way harder. He at least wanted to know where her room was! “Besides, she’d just say that she wants a fish, and I suck at fishing.”

(He was actually not bad at Almyran style wyvernback net-fishing, but he couldn’t exactly say that).

“The assignment is to create something nice using your knowledge of a classmate, not to invade their privacy. Flayn is a wonderfully gracious and kind young woman. She’ll be pleased with whatever you give her,” Seteth said with a sniff. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s been a rash of student receiving mysterious wounds that I must look into.”

As Seteth turned and began to walk away, Claude decided to go with an emotional appeal. “Flayn deserves the best, you know! I want her to feel like Saint Indech himself was trying to make her year!”

Seteth paused at the door, for a beat too long. Claude worried he’d upset him, and then Seteth spoke, in a measured voice without turning around. “If Saint Indech were trying to please Flayn, he’d make her some beautiful toys, of wood or shells or silver. He’d get her different sea creatures, the kind she would find in tide pools, or the kinds from far into the ocean that she couldn’t see herself. He’d tell her all about the deep, and say that this was just a taste until she could see it for herself. It’d turn from a play set to a whole diorama after a while, one that took up the whole play room that she could just run around in and pretend to be swimming. We’d paint the walls blue…”

Claude tried not to gape as Seteth trailed off. What, did the older man like to imagine domestic life with the Saints?

Seteth finally turned around, his tired eyes looking like they could see through Claude’s intentions.

“But she’s too old for such toys, so make her some jewelry out of shells. Do not spy on my sister again.”

Somehow, Claude didn’t feel like he could disobey.


	8. Linhardt's Gift

Honestly, making a gift wasn’t that much of a a burden. Not as long as Linhardt could find a way to tie it into his own interests.

Sure, linguistics wasn’t his preferred area of expertise. But the library was vast, and it only took a little bit of research before he realized how much the Saints, Elites, and their associated legends had affected the expressions that he and his countrymen used as a manner of habit.

Linhardt was five hours into a tome on word origins, and in heaven. So, naturally, Caspar chose to appear.

It was about twenty minutes into his rant that the shorter student realized that Linhardt wasn’t listening to his problems.

“Linhardt, are you not listening to my problems?” Caspar asked.

“Of course I am,” Linhardt replied, wracking his brain for tidbits of whatever his friend had been ranting about. “You want to make a gift for a girl who’s a quote-unquote girl, but you don’t know how to be girly?” Linhardt blinked as that hit him. “That’s stupid, Caspar. Look at your own strengths, then look at what she likes, and see how they overlap. There isn’t a girl alive whose interests don’t extend out of… ‘girliness.’”

“But how can I make something for someone who likes stuff that’s pretty!” Caspar groaned. Good, he was out of the phase that expected a serious answer.

“I don’t know. Do I look like a girl to you?” Linhardt responded.

Caspar, weighing the value of his life, shook his head. “You just seem so sure about what you’re making. I’m not someone who can just read a bunch of books and have the perfect gift suddenly materialize, you know?”

Linhardt raised an eyebrow. “Is that all you think this is?” he asked, gesturing to the pile of books on the table in front of him.

A comprehensive reference of Fodlanese idioms, perfect for anyone struggling with the language…was that easy to write? Would Petra just be able to do the research on her own, in an afternoon, and write it up at her own leisure?

“No, that’s not what I mean!” Caspar shot back, “It’s just that I know what she’d like, and it’s not anything that I can make without ruining it!”

Linhardt sighed. “I know that your strengths are limited, but it’s not like you can just beat someone up to make this mystery girl a gift.”

“Beat someone up…” murmured Caspar. “That’s it! You’re a genius, Linhardt!”

As he dashed away, Linhardt weighed the pros and cons of stopping whatever horrible plan his old friend was about to enact. Naturally, Lin decided it wasn’t worth it.

He began the next chapter, on how the mysterious Saint Timotheos and his associated Crest might have influenced the modern word ‘timid.’ Petra deserved due diligence, after all.


	9. Dedue's Gift

Dedue felt the flowers gently, brushing the tips of his fingers over the petals softly enough that he wouldn’t break them. They were dry enough, he judged, to pluck.

His mother had done this many times, usually with his sister’s favorite cactus blossoms. Dedue had learned by watching her, always taking the opportunity to add a bit more of a spice to the mixture.

Unfortunately, that meant that he didn’t have much experience with the sweet smells that he knew his recipient would prefer. It didn’t help that he favorite flowers, as his time in the greenhouse had proven, were lilies. They weren’t known for their fragrance, and didn’t have any classic aroma pairings.

He hoped that his experiments would make something suitable out of them, but he brought some of the classic roses and lavender just in case.

His mother would have scolded him for wasting so many flowers, but his sister would have approved. After working so long in the garden, she thought that flowers were meant to be picked and made into something beautiful. She couldn’t stand when a flower wilted in the ground after only a short time blooming. He’d worn enough woven crowns over the years to be sure of it.

The festive atmosphere was making Dedue sentimental. Or maybe the idea of making a gift for a younger girl once more was triggering some nostalgia.

He crushed the dry lily petals, and looked at his options. Vanilla, honey, apple, nordasalat. He had time to try them all, and to fall back on lavender if need be.

Dedue hoped that Lysithea would enjoy some calming scents, to help focus on her studies and brighten her rooms.

Even if flowers were short lived, the beauty they brought didn’t have to be.


	10. Hilda's Gift

What Hilda considered, that she knew most of her classmates didn’t, was that the receiver of a gift had just as much of a responsibility as the giver.

She remembered when a nine-year-old Holst, brimming with pride, had presented her with a dead squirrel he had somehow managed to dye pink for her birthday. She’d given him a dutiful hug and smile and said, “Thanks so much, big brother!”

She’d burned it the next day, and Holst had never known.

So Hilda was prepared to fake her brightest reaction and give her insincerest compliments to the person who had drawn her, no matter what she gave. She'd eat whatever food, wear whatever garment, clap at whatever performance. But that meant that she also expected the same in return.

To summarize, Felix Hugo Fraldarius was socially obligated to wear her accessories, and she was totally there for it.

She wasn’t evil, of course. She knew that these accessories had to be tailored to Felix’s…Felixness. But that had so much room for interpretation!

Yeah, bangles were adorable and in fashion. But Felix had to know that with just the right thickness they could be used to parry daggers! And sure, necklaces were mostly just cute, but Hilda knew exactly how to fit a blade in a charm, perfect for any assassins who’d shown up at a party.

The earrings, admittedly, were just cute, but Felix would have to live with that.

Because she really, truly cared about her recipient, she even made sure to design everything with a knife-based motif, and a polished bronze to match Felix’s eyes.

He was going to love them. And if he didn’t, well, Hilda would enjoy the sight at least.


	11. Edelgard's Gift

Edelgard looked at the hat she’d made with satisfaction. Like all of the garments she favored, it was crimson. For a diva-like flair, she’d put a nice navy ribbon around the brim, with pearl beads glued on at regular intervals, twinkling like stars that audience members could see even on stage.

Glad she’d gotten things done with early, Edelgard placed the hat on her desk and read some missives from her allies.

Damn it, had Thales really used her resources to slaughter an orphanage again?! She’d really have to do something to keep him in check once he stopped giving her such nice things. He was lucky he wasn’t a vile creature that can merely masquerade as a human at will, or she might almost think he was worse than Rhea.

As Edelgard was halfway through an angry, heavily encoded response, a knock came at her door. Ah, that was probably Hubert.

Edelgard pulled open her door, and came face-to-face with Dorothea.

“Hi, Edie,” Dorothea said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need some advice. It can wait, though, if you’re busy with anything?”

“I’m happy to help,” Edelgard replied. “Please come in.”

Dorothea stepped towards the door, and Edelgard shut it in her face. “Oh, sorry, I just realized that I need one second!”

The hat! She’d forgotten about the hat!

She scooped the papers into the desk drawer, but the large floppy hat was too large to fit in. Her closet was occupied with her Flame Emperor regalia, and her weapons stash took up the entirety of the space beneath her bed. If she threw her blankets over it, would the shape be too obvious? Or would they crush it or upset the glue?

She made a split second decision, then opened the door.

“I’m sorry about that,” she told Dorothea. “I needed to tidy up a bit.”

Dorothea glanced at Edelgard’s blanket, tented over her desk and chair. “Um, right. It’s about the gift exchange.”

Edelgard’s traitor eyes flickered involuntarily over to her desk. Dorothea must have noticed, because she suddenly lit up with a mischievous grin.

“Well, you see, I’m afraid that the person I drew might get the wrong impression from my gift. Making something by hand is just so intimate and emotional, you know? It has to come from the heart.”

She took a half step closer to Edelgard, who realized that her cheeks were burning. “Well, yes, I can see how one could see that as the case, but this exchange is meant to show feelings of friendship.”

“Oh?” Dorothea asked. “So you don’t feel anything special for the person you drew?”

“I, ah, did not say that. Obviously all of our classmates are our precious comrades, and I value everyone uniquely, for their own personal abili—”

She was cut off by Dorothea’s sudden lunge for the blanket.

A few minutes later, a flustered Edelgard had finally wrestled Dorothea out the door without the secret being revealed.

“I’m sorry, Edie. I just couldn’t resist teasing! I’ll figure out my gift problems on my own.” She gave a wink. “I’m sure nobody will love any gift more than yours, though.”

As Dorothea finally, blessedly, walked off, Edelgard felt the sudden need to add some more to her gift. It was important not to disappoint a precious comrade, right?


	12. Mercedes' Gift

Mercedes hummed as she did her embroidery. She hoped that she was doing it right; she’d hate to accidentally commit some offensive form of sacrilege!

She’d decided to work outside, so that she could peek at the wyverns on patrol while she worked. It was quite hard to find good references of the spirits of Duscur; that the more peaceful aspect of the war god, the one that represented defense and resilience was wyvern-winged was as much as she could glean. It was said that he’d give his protection to a warrior who slept below his hung image.

She hoped that Dedue wouldn’t mind if she used him as a reference as well; it was hard to think of a better model of strength and resilience.

“Ah, Mercedes! How are you doing on this fine day? You seem to be…sew content!”

“Hello, Alois!” Mercedes responded with a smile. “I’m wonderful! I just hope I’m using the right images to invoke a spirit!”

“Uh, a spirit?” Alois sputtered, suddenly looking quite pale. “You mean, like the ones in the stories?”

Mercedes hadn’t known that Alois knew stories of Duscur too! “Oh, yes. Do you have any other stories that I haven’t heard yet? Traditionally you need to put as much of each as possible to really get this spirit’s favor, otherwise the charm won’t work! This is for a friend, so it will have to be as strong as I can make it.”

“You’re setting a spirit on your friend?! But won’t they be scared?”

“Well, that’s the point.” Mercedes laughed. “Once this is done, well…the old stories say they’ll never need to fear again.”

“I…This is a test, isn’t it! You’re ambushing me with another ghost story, to help me build up my tolerance even when surprised!” Alois pumped his fist, the effect ruined by the trembling of his hand. “And…to prove how not frightened I am…I’m going to go off and find some other company. Purely to share the tale, of course!”

As Alois rushed off, Mercedes glanced down at the embroidered image with a frown. Did it really look so frightening?

No, she didn’t believe it. When things were unfamiliar, they made people uncomfortable. Dedue knew that better than anyone.

Still, if she could make the design frightening and ghost-story like while respecting Dedue’s culture, she had to admit that would be extremely cool.


	13. Ignatz's Gift

Ignatz smiled to himself as he mixed another batch of orange, slightly lighter than the one he’d had before. It would look great highlighting the contours of the figure.

He dodged the dagger that was tossed on his head and began to work closer on the fine details. The hardboard he was using was slightly smaller than the canvases he normally painted on, but he knew that as a gift portability would be key. Ignatz didn’t mind the challenge either; this contest was a great way to expand his artistic horizons.

As he quickly stepped back to avoid a whirring tomahawk, he evaluated the portrait. “It’s looking great,” Ignatz announced. “I’ll only need you as a model for a little longer! Then I’ll be able to work on the background on my own.”

Jeralt, who had been lining up a shot with a javelin, nodded. “I’m going to be honest here, kid. When I said that I’d only do this if I could also use you as target practice, it was to make you say no. You’ve been taking this like a champ, though.”

Ignatz beamed. “I’m actually incredibly grateful about it! I know my parents would be upset about me wasting time painting, but if I’m practicing avoidance at the same time, then it’s a perfect solution. I just wish I’d thought about it before!”

“Hey, as long as you keep dodging we’re all good. I don’t want to get disowned as a father because I killed one of my kid’s students.”

Ignatz, who’d suspected all the while that Jeralt was very closely missing on purpose, nodded. “Honestly, I think Leonie will be happy too, knowing that her gift didn’t keep me from training.”

“Yep, that one’s definitely got a heart for battle, for sure.” Jeralt paused, considering. “Hey, if it’s for her do you think I should have my shirt off or something?”

“I, um, don’t think that would be appro—” The red-faced Ignatz was cut off by Jeralt’s laugh.

“Don’t worry. I’m just teasing. Has anyone ever told you that you’re easy to mess with?”

Ignatz turned back to the painting, and decided to think of it as learning to avoid embarrassment, too. Who said art wasn’t good training?


	14. Flayn's Gift

“Pleeeease,” Flayn asked, in an admittedly childlike way. While she was no child in comparison to any of the monastery’s humans, there was no doubt that Auntie Seiros…ah, Archbishop Rhea could comfortably see her as such. So there was no need to put on undo airs around her!

The Archbishop had a day off, and as such was taking some private time in her quarters. Knowing that none but her closest family would dare intrude to see her, Rhea was partaking in her most personal of routines. As far as Flayn could tell, it consisted of getting very drunk off holy wine around lunchtime, lying on her back on the floor, and occasionally making sad noises or muttering words like “Mom” or “Iris” or “Wilhelm.”

Not exactly something that Flayn felt guilty about interrupting.

“If you want to make something nice,” Rhea muttered from her place on the carpet, “just go and ask Indech about it. Trust me, he has nothing better to do. At all. Ever.”

“But Uncle lives so far away!” Flayn protested. “I couldn’t possibly go find him without missing class! Besides, I already made the charm. I just need help enchanting it!”

She proudly held the little silver Pegasus out in her hands. One of its wings might be a little bigger than the other, but Flayn personally thought she’d done a great job.

“Enchanting it for what?”

“Well, for avoidance or speed, I think. Ingrid would definitely like something best that has a use in battle.”

“Avoidance or speed? Yeah, that’ll help her not die too quickly. Humans die, you know. Very quickly no matter what. It’s what they do. Cethleann, loving humans is a very bad idea. Don't do it. Listen to your elders.” Rhea gave an odd hiccup and moved her arm towards another wine bottle. Flayn picked it up, holding it just high enough that Rhea would need to sit up to reach it. Her aunt just glared at her motionlessly.

Flayn narrowed her eyes. “This is not just a way to honor Uncle, it’s a way to make my school life better and bond with my peers! And the professor! I’m sick of being lonely all the time, Auntie! Please, just help me with this!”

Rhea paused a moment, then sighed. “Fine.” She pushed herself up off the floor, and Flayn could have sworn she heard grumbling along the lines of “whenmomsbacktherewontbeanymoreofthisbull—” before she needed to step forward to help her teetering aunt get upright.

“Okay,” Rhea said, after a moment to orient herself. “Yeah, just heat it in a forge, and then cool it off with some of your blood mixed with Pegasus blood. Then boom: Instant Sacred Item. Our blood is great. I’m going to take a nap now.”

After watching Rhea collapse face-first onto her bed, Flayn decided against reminding her that it was only one in the afternoon. Vaguely wondering how her aunt managed to effectively run a religion like this, Flayn took her little charm and wandered back down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The game gives us no indication of what Rhea does all day, so I must assume.


	15. Lorenz's Gift

Lorenz was not intimidated by the challenge, not at all! Instead, he was grateful!

He had worried, at first, if using some of his personal, ancestral tea set would be against the rules. But then he’d reviewed the stated guidelines, and found that “It doesn’t need to be a physical object” had a number of useful interpretations.

In the spirit of the challenge, he had personally selected his family’s most stylish, most Faerghus-appropriate teaware, and had even gone so far as to specifically blend some of his family’s finest leaves for just this occasion. He had even left his choice of tablecloth for the eventual determination of his recipient’s favorite color!

The problem was that it was near-impossible to determine Prince Dimitri’s favorite anything. Even asking Dedue and the rest of his own House members gave nothing but an inconclusive result.

“Whatever his favorite food is,” the retainer had declared, with misty eyes, “I will find it, and give him a meal that he can truly smile about!”

Which was a fine sentiment, but nothing useful for Lorenz’s cause.

It was up to him, then, to craft the ultimate tea party and use it to win the prince over. As the true best potential future leader of Leicester, it was a perfect opportunity to show how much better he’d be than certain Riegan interlopers at making allies of the rulers of other nations.

If only there was a way to guarantee a perfect teatime! Lorenz remembered how disappointed he’d been when Professor Byleth had met his views on nobility with only commendation, instead of praise! He’d been unable to hide his disappointed reaction, and heard foul language and cries of “Why can’t I Pulse this?!” in response from his beloved teacher. Oh, well, Lorenz knew how hard it could be to be a truly exceptional host.

He was already practicing in the mirror to counter any questions the heir to Faeghus might have; whether about why Lorenz’s economic policies were more sound, or the risks of putting trust in Claude’s unknown religious affiliation, or how important the duties of nobility were.

Lorenz was even diligent enough to paint little lions on his teacups!

He could hardly wait for the teatime to occur, and to see Prince Dimitri’s reaction to his political acumen. It was sure to be an afternoon to remember!


	16. Ingrid's Gift

When Ingrid was a little girl, she had learned a very important lesson. Getting something that you wanted for a gift, just because it was nice, was only fun for a while. Then you would look up from your expensive, well-illustrated book to your father’s tired look as he balanced the territory's accounts, or the strained smile of your brothers as they got back from another day of helping out in the fields.

Gifts that you needed, or would help you to improve yourself, were much better. There was no shame in getting a new saddle a bit early because you’d just about outgrown your last one, or taking extra lessons in combat because you knew you’d be able to serve your land and family later.

Gifts were an opportunity, something to use to make your life and your loved ones’ lives better for years to come. Just a pretty bauble wasn’t nearly as permanent.

Even if the new gift wasn’t necessarily fun or pleasant.

Even if the recipient didn’t actively want it.

Even if Bernadetta would run and hide the second she knew what Ingrid was planning.

But she’d already agreed to train alongside Ingrid, so Ingrid had a much better idea of how to help her than she had before. Honestly, a new routine was exactly the sort of thing that could really help Bernadetta out.

As she sketched out the next page of her potential training regimen, Ingrid knew that Bernie wouldn’t be happy when the gifts were given out.

But she would be eventually, and that was what mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid may seem a bit harsh in here because I just had to redo the entire second-to-last chapter of AM on Maddening because she missed an 80% hit twice and then chose to die to a 7% crit.


	17. Hubert's Gift

Thunder Catherine was woefully unguarded. She was doing some late-evening training in the Knights’ Hall, it seemed, and had paused to dine on an extremely large sandwich.

As she shoveled unsightly amounts of bread, cheese, and unidentified meat into her mouth, she seemed oblivious to the world outside of her meal. She didn’t seem to notice that due to the hour, the hall was empty. She didn’t notice that any eyes were in position to watch her. She didn’t notice that a large glob of mustard had dripped out of the roll and was in the process of causing an unsightly stain on her training pants.

If she was able to pre-treat them quickly enough, the stain wouldn’t set in, and her pants would survive the night. But Hubert wasn’t merciful enough to give her that chance.

After a quick burst of dark magic, Hubert watched as Catherine slumped forward. Before falling unconscious, Hubert saw her use the last of her awareness to set the sandwich safely down on the bench beside her. (Good—Hubert was not a moral man, but neither was he a monster.)

He paused until he was sure that the sleep spell had taken hold, and then dashed forward, knife in hand. He didn’t have much time.

Sure, this would be the perfect opportunity to kill a powerful church supporter. But unfortunately, certain stubborn Ladies that Hubert was sworn to thought that it was distasteful to just cut the throats of their enemies in their sleep (despite the efficiency!). So Hubert focused on his more personal mission: his Saint Indech gift.

So instead, he used the sharp blade to cut a lock of Catherine’s hair, and stuff in quickly within a small bag. And now, the tricky part. After stowing the bag of hair away, he drew a small glass vial and already began to cast his Warp spell. Then, in the second before he was about to vanish, he shoved his dagger into the flesh of her hand, collecting a few drops of blood before he was back in his room with a flash of purple light.

That had gone well.

The blood and hair were carefully labelled “Crest of Charon-Major” and placed in a case with all the other samples he’d collected thus far. Hubert had heard that Seteth was onto him, and was investigating the scratches that had been appearing on sleeping Crest-bearers, so he knew that he wouldn’t be able to gather much more without undue risk.

But still, he thought, as he looked at the fruits of his labor, he’d done a fine job thus far. If Linhardt was truly so set on neglecting all else for Crest studies, then Hubert would be sure to give him the tools to make such an endeavor worthwhile.

What better gift could there be?


	18. Leonie's Gift

Ugh, how was this fair? Leonie had no idea how to make something for some fancy noble who’d never used a homemade thing in his life!

Well, no matter who a person was or where they came from, there was no way they could complain about something practical and well-made. Luckily, that was Leonie’s bread and butter.

The kitchen staff had been happy to trade her the leather from some of the game they were using for a promise to give them some more in the future, so that wasn’t a problem. Leonie had plenty of experience in strong stitching that would last the test of time, so that wasn’t a problem either.

What was a problem was looking down at the sturdily-stitched hunks of leather, with some strategic dangling straps, and mentally comparing it to the fancy molded saddles that nobles had an endless supply of. 

Leonie remembered being small, and gazing in awe at the gear of the knights she’d seen while traveling with her mother on an errand to a big city. How was her homemade, villager gear supposed to compete with that?

Maybe it would look nicer if she sewed on a nice lace ribbon or something? Leonie thought that’d look dumb.

But it didn’t matter what Leonie thought! It mattered what Ferdinand thought, when he’d probably never had to make something by hand or use a saddle not made by a master leatherworker in his life.

Even if Leonie couldn’t possibly imagine being disappointed by getting an entire saddle, of all things! Surely even the snootiest of nobles could recognize the worth and effort of such a gift?

It didn’t matter, Leonie reminded herself, glaring down at her work. She’d wasted too much valuable time on sewing this stupid thing, anyway!

She’d put on the ribbon that kind of looked like it’d match Ferdinand’s hair (she knew, because Lorenz had said it’d match her hair, and Ferdinand’s was close enough) and that would be the end of it!

No matter what he might think, she knew what was comfortable for horses! Even the noblest of thoroughbreds couldn’t object to the soft, molded fit Leonie knew how to make.

And even if he was a noble, Leonie couldn’t imagine Ferdinand objecting to something that made his horse happy. She’d seen him so often, in the stalls by Marianne, combing out the mane of some academy mare that he didn’t even ride.

Even a noble who had no idea about hard work could know what it meant to try to connect with a totally different animal, Leonie reflected as she held up the finished saddle, with the orange ribbon ringing around its edge.

And, well, if he thought that it wasn’t good enough to meet his noble standards, then so what? Leonie knew what a good job was, and what mattered in a gift. Better the ugliest, most usable saddle in the world than some overblown, inflexible, stylized noble creation. Jeralt’s child would surely recognize that as well.


	19. Felix's Gift

“And then I got to the top of the log pile. Ingrid was already there, of course.”

“ _And so the reluctant hero managed to surmount the walls of the great wooden fortress. As he drew himself over the edge, arms shaking with exertion, he was faced with a welcome sight: the Pegasus knight he had befriended earlier was there as well, her lance gleaming in the dusk. As she caught sight of him, she offered him a hand up. With a wordless nod, they acknowledged their shared mission: war would be averted on this night._ ”

“Then we jumped down together. We weren’t supposed to be there, so we had to be quiet so none of the adults noticed.”

“ _Stealth was key for our valiant warriors. If they were detected too early, the mission would be lost then and there._ ”

“We dodged around trees for a bit, and then we noticed Glenn—my older brother—in front of one of the best paths down to the creek. He was way bigger than us back then, so we knew we couldn’t take him straight on. Ingrid ran ahead to distract him.”

“ _As they darted stealthily through the castle’s garden, they noticed the sentinel. A giant among men, he could mow down armies with a sweep of his sword. Just as the hero began to despair, the knight touched his shoulder and gave a whispered command. ‘Save the mage, and break the prince’s curse!’ And with that, her Pegasus flew. As the sentinel gave chase, the hero darted forward, knowing not to let her risk her life in vain._ ”

“Once they were gone, I climbed down to the dry creek bed. I saw Dimitri right away, he was pacing back and forth with a stick. Sylvain was sitting on a big rock, since that was jail in all of our games.”

“ _As the hero descended to the dungeons, he happened upon a frightening sight: his mage friend, chained and bound within a murky cell. And guarding him was the monstrous form of the cursed prince!_ ”

“Dimitri and I tussled a bit after that. He broke my stick and his stick at the same time, so I punched him in the nuts. He went down after that.”

“Ha, really? Well, _the hero and the cursed form of his liege sprang into battle. Blow on blow fell heavy upon both combatants, until both of their swords had been shattered from strain. With one last great effort, the hero drew on the last of his strength, and with his bare hands was able wrestle the beast to the ground!_ ”

“And that was pretty much it. I tagged Sylvain out of jail, helped Dimitri up, got lectured later, and that was the game.”

“Oh, but you can’t have a proper chivalric romance without some…well, romance! Ashe will know that it’s missing, for sure! Tell me, who does the hero get his climactic kiss with? The freed mage? The healed prince? Maybe even the triumphant Pegasus knight?”

“I’ve read way too many of these stories in my day. That is not a requirement. Now help me turn it into a great tale of chivalry, or I won’t set you up on a date with my dad.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun. I hope Rodrigue is less uptight about these things. But really, there’s no good opera without a few love songs! I’d be happy to recommend a few, if you like.”

“Right now I just want to get this gift exchange over with. For the operas…maybe. But later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today because I forgot yesterday, woo.


	20. Dorothea's Gift

Dorothea’s life would be much easier if she’d gotten literally anyone else. A sweet song, a personal dance show, perhaps a handmade garment or piece of jewelry. Easy to personalize for each of her classmates.

Honestly, it was even easier to guess exactly how Sylvain would like his gift ‘personalized,’ but she was not going to give him anything approaching that satisfaction.

So the trick was, how could she make something special for Sylvain, that wasn’t, well, Sylvainish?

She could write him a song about his exploits in battle, totally avoiding all romantic connotation, but he didn’t seem to particularly care about such things.

She could make him a scarf or something, but the only styles she knew he liked were chosen for the purpose of seduction, and she wasn’t about to help him with that.

Dancing just for him… No explanation needed on why that was out.

Even if she could cook, a woman giving a man food came with certain implications, and the last thing she wanted was to give him another avenue to hit on her.

If she merely sewed his initials onto a handkerchief…no, she could imagine the grin as he accepted the lady’s favor. Ugh.

So Dorothea decided to just go with what she knew. She looked in her playbook of arias, and tried to find one that was appropriate and non-romantic.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before she remembered “The Ten Elites,” an old classic she’d played a bit part in when she was just starting out. Each of the ten had songs both by and about them, and Gautier was no exception.

“And Gautier, with armor strong came ‘round to join the fight.  
His Lance in hand, his Goddess-Gift, to split apart the night…”

Dorothea’d gone through the entire song before she remembered that lance had killed his brother. She let her head fall against her desk.

Goddess, literally anyone else!


	21. Raphael's Gift

Raphael nodded to himself as he inspected his handwork. He’d made a little sitting stool out of oak, and he thought he’d done a great job! It was nice and sturdy, enough to hold even Raph’s weight, and it didn’t wobble at all! It was a perfect gift.

But Hilda’s words about making sure that gifts for girls were girly and pretty kept ringing in his head.

That wasn’t something that Mercedes cared about, though. Right? She was always praying, and Raphael thought that being able to sit down wherever while she was doing it would be helpful for her. But she was still a girl, and she still did things to make her hair look nice and stuff.

So Raphael decided on the perfect compromise: all he’d have to do was make the stool look pretty, and it’d be as easy as that!

Unfortunately, Raphael wasn’t much of an artist, so he couldn’t really paint on some flowers like Maya or Ignatz could. He’d tried, but they kind of looked like splatty blobs of rainbow running down the legs. At least the stool had some more color now, which was nice.

And then it hit him. It was obvious! Just get a cushion with pretty fabric, put it on top, and boom! Instant girly gift.

“And that’s why I need a girly pillow!” he told Anna, who had a finger to her cheek.

“I see…I’ll try to find something, but I wouldn’t mind some specifics. What size and shape? What’s the color scheme? Would your person like a pattern or a picture?”

“It’s a circle, about this big.” Raphael gave a rough gesture. “As for the colors, it’s kind of rainbow now, so I guess anything would match. And patterns…”

Raphael paused for a moment. What did he know that Mercedes liked?

“She likes desserts. She always makes the best ones! She likes the goddess a lot too, and flowers I think. Oh, and ghosts! I heard she made Alois scream about ghosts the other day.”

“All right, got it. So you’d like a pattern that has one of those things?”

Raphael paused for a moment. “One… Actually, do you have any kind of fabric that has all of those things? I want to show her that I was really thinking about her when I made this! I can even sew it on the pillow myself!”

Anna gave him a very long look. Just as Raphael was starting to get a bit uncomfortable, she finally spoke. “I’ll get it, at a 50% premium, and you’re absolutely not to name myself or any of my contacts as responsible for the design.”

Raphael pumped his fist. Mercedes was going to love this!


	22. Annette's Gift

Cyril already had pulled out a broom and dustpan, which Annette didn’t think was fair.

“Don’t worry,” she told him from the top of the ladder. “I’ve got this!” She really did. If she hadn’t needed his help getting the keys to the storeroom, she’d have been fine on her own!

Sure, it wasn’t ideal that all of the glass beads and tiles were on the top shelf, but what was the worst that could happen?

“Okay, maybe I didn’t exactly have it,” she admitted ten minutes later as Cyril swept up another pile of shards. “Are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“Please don’t move. I do not trust you, at all, to walk around broken glass.”

That was fair enough, Annette reflected, from her little clean corner. It was the safest place amidst the chaos that the storeroom had become. She wasn’t even sure how half those shelves had gotten knocked over!

The silence stretched on as Cyril kept sweeping. Annette began to muse aloud.

“So I guess those accessory ideas for Hilda won’t work out. It's a shame with how stylish she is, but there’s probably something else she could use…”

“Try a map to where her chores are done,” Cyril replied without looking up.

Annette laughed. “It’s supposed to be something she likes, though! Hey, what are your favorite kinds of gifts?”

“Dunno. I haven’t really gotten any since my parents died,” Cyril replied with a shrug. “It’s enough that Lady Rhea is nice enough to give me a home and food, so I’m not gonna ask for more.”

“But gifts are fun!” replied Annette with a gasp. “Everyone should be able to have something special once in a while, especially you with how hard you work. You must have something you’d like!”

Cyril rolled his eyes. “What about something nice to clean with?”

He was being sarcastic, but Annette still thought about it. There were a lot of nice soaps out there, that smelled nice and made your skin soft… Actually, if she found out Hilda’s favorite scents, that would be a great gift for her too! She’d just have to pick up some lye and some extra ingredients to make it special, and then make an extra batch.

“That’s a great idea! Thanks, Cyril!” Annette told him with a grin, ready to dash off and get to work.

“Wait, I still haven’t got all the glass shards.”

Ready to dash off and get to work once she wasn’t at risk of maiming herself!


	23. Ferdinand's Gift

Throughout the history of the Adrestian Empire, there were several gifts that had achieved particular renown.

Lycaon III had spared no expense in the famous Gifting of the Tomb, in which he managed to quell an uprising before it began when he had the then-patriarch of the Varley clan executed for treason. The tomb was a glorious affair, studded with gems, statues, and every form of art, enough to convince Varley’s young heir that the emperor held no ill-will against her father. In return, she accepted his friendship, and reaffirmed her family’s fealty.

The Lady Isolde Hevring had sent caravans of flowers and gold to the young Tristan Bergliez year after year, creating an annual festival that persisted nearly a decade before Tristan’s elder sister had managed to convince him that yes, this was an indication that she wants you to ask her on a date.

The Marquess Adalrich von Vestra had given his firstborn son as a servant to the Emperor, and all of his descendants thereafter. It was the ultimate show of loyalty, though even the most patriotic and impartial of historians had referred to the action as “a bit much.”

And now there was Ferdinand von Aegir.

Gifted by fate and the Goddess herself with an opportunity to prove his skill and acumen to the Princess herself, he would stop at nothing to present her with the ultimate in presents.

Nothing!

“Please stop,” said the Gatekeeper awkwardly, as Ferdinand was about to explain some more historical anecdotes about Adrestian gift-giving. “I believe you about your great present! But I’m still not allowed to let you take a giant wolf into the school.”

Ferdinand scoffed as he patted the carriage that the wolf was still sleeping within.

“Nonsense! Von Aegirs are well-known for their hounds. Taming a wolf to fight by the side of my Emperor will be no different for a man of my talents!”

The Gatekeeper glanced around nervously. “I’m going to have to report this, if you do. Maybe if you don’t keep it within the walls it’ll be okay, but I really can’t let you take this inside.”

Ferdinand sighed. “Fine. I see no reason to argue with a man just doing his job. We will prove ourselves and then be granted passage, as I grant Edelgard the best gift of all: a faithful pet, tamed by her most astute advisor to be the ultimate companion both in battle and peace!”

A growl rang out, and a clawed foot bust through the side of the carriage and hit a glancing blow on Ferdinand. In response, he drew a small waterskin, and sprayed the wolf through the hole.

“It is a work in progress still, but I have confidence.”


	24. Lysithea's Gift

It was extremely annoying that Lysithea was obligated to waste her time on such a childish tradition. Didn’t all of her classmates have something better to be doing, just like she did?

If she had at least gotten someone who loved sweets or dolls like she did, it would have been easy. She would have the skills to make them happy.

But the problem was that, as far as Lysithea could tell, Marianne was never happy! The only one she ever seemed to open up to was her favorite horse!

That was why Lysithea found herself at the stables, prepared to confront Dorte.

“You and I both know that you understand Marianne better than anyone,” Lysithea told him. “Right now I need to find a way to make her happy. You want her to be happy, right? So inspire me.”

“Neigh,” said Dorte, in a way that implied he’d do whatever it took for Marianne’s sake. Huh, that was way more expressive than Lysithea had ever known a horse to be.

“Maybe I just need to get you some treats or a comfy blanket,” Lysithea said, stroking the horse’s nose. “Maybe that’s all it’ll take to make a good gift for Marianne.”

Just as she was settling on that, an arrow flew by her head and buried itself within the wood of the stable.

“Sorry,” Shamir told her. “There was a cockroach.”

“Oh,” Lysithea responded in a voice that was most certainly not a squeak. “Thank you for killing it. I’ll keep thinking up a gift for Marianne now.”

“Hmm?” Shamir hummed as she retrieved her arrow from the wall, shaking the dead bug off as she grabbed it. “What, something for the horse? It’s not even hers. It would be much more practical to give her something she could use in battle instead.”

As Shamir walked out, Lysithea pouted. What, was she just supposed to ignore Marianne’s love of horses and focus on her healing instead? It wasn’t like she could just give her the gift of healing horses.

After a pause and an encouraging nibble from Dorte, Lysithea was off again. There had to be some books on veterinary magic and medicine in the library!


	25. Sylvain's Gift

The Adrestian merchant girl was a cutie, no doubt about that. It was a pity that, by now, Sylvain knew that torpedoing his own chances was vital to a more charitable success.

“You are one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen. You ever think about the noble life? I know a guy named Lorenz Hellman Glou—”

He was still nursing the bruise on his face from that little debacle when he tried again, this time on a lovely lady from the Seiros Pegasus Company that he’d met when she served on Ingrid’s battalion.

“You really need someone who can appreciate you, and show you the finer things. You ever meet my classmate, Lorenz? He’ll be sure to—”

Warrior women were a bad idea, Sylvain reflected, as he held a cold compress to the…very private area that the Pegasus knight had kicked. He looked pathetically up at the kitchen maid who’d gotten him the ice.

“Is there anything I could give you to convince you to take Lorenz on a pity date?”

While she didn’t actually hit him, banishing him from the mess hall while he was still holding ice over his crotch wasn’t much better. Sylvain didn’t get it; Lorenz had money and a Crest, so why weren’t the girls falling over him?

He was seriously debating the merits of just sleeping with Lorenz himself when he nearly walked into Professor Hanneman. Or rather, nearly tripped over Professor Hanneman, since the latter was crouched on the ground, inspecting…something.

Luckily, that gave Sylvain time to hide the ice pack behind his back. It was worth dodging the embarrassment, even if it meant a little more pain and a little more risk of infertility. Actually, if he ended up infertile wouldn’t that serve his father right? So, in all honesty…

Sylvain shook his head to clear it of irrelevant thoughts. “Um, professor? What exactly are you doing?”

“Ah, I’m sorry for blocking the way,” Hanneman told him without looking up from…whatever it was about the grass that he was inspecting. “You see, some of my research has led me to believe that plants tended to by bearers of the Crest of Noa have greater vitality than average. I’ve just learned that an old groundskeeper who used to work at the monastery bore a minor Crest of Noa, so I’m evaluating the grass to see if any seems livelier than the rest.”

“Right,” said Sylvain. “Hey, you work with Crests a lot. You know any women who are desperate to get with any Crest-bearing guys? Like, really, really desperate?”

Hanneman raised his head to glare at Sylvain. “Young man, I hope that you don’t believe that your Crest gives you the right to—”

“Not for me, for Lorenz!”

“Ah, that desperate,” Hanneman muttered. “Is he the one for whom you must find a gift? I think it’s best to recognize lost causes when you see them. Have you considered anything more…doable?”

“Not really. Guys like him who like luxurious things are hard to please with handmade stuff.”

“How about we make a deal? I can help you to make some very rare items to boost the power of his Crest, and in return I would like the chance to run some experiments with your own Crest of Gautier.”

“Really? I’m sold. Whatever you want,” Sylvain told him with a growing sense of relief. Finally, an end to this painful experience!

“Excellent! Now all I need you to do is tend some of that grass, over there, weekly for the next few months. Gautier’s Crest should be in opposition to agriculture, so the growth of that grass and the nearby flora should be…”

Sylvain smiled and nodded. Somehow still not worse than trying to get Lorenz laid.


	26. Caspar's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, anyone ever forget to update their Christmas fic with its last chapter on Christmas, not realize until months later, and then decide you might as well wait until next Christmas? No? Just me? Oh well.

Caspar was exhausted, a little bruised, and pumped to see Annette’s face when she realized what his gift was.

As the rays of the sun began to peek over the walls of the Monastery, Caspar was stopped short of knocking on Annette’s door by the sight of Ingrid furiously pounding on the door next to it.

“Come out, Bernadetta! Today is the gift exchange day, and I need to speak to you!”

From inside came a reply of, “No, I don’t have anything for anyone! Just let me die in here!”

“Don’t make me kick this door down again,” warned Ingrid with crossed arms.

“Woah, doesn’t that seem like a little much?” Caspar asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t you start,” Ingrid said, whirling around to face him. “I know for a fact that you’ve picked her up and carried her when it was necessary.”

“Yeah,” said Caspar with a chuckle. “That did the trick for sure. I just don’t think Bernie is this much of a morning person.”

“Wait, are you okay?” Ingrid asked with concern. “You look like you either didn’t sleep or tried to box a bear.”

“Both, kind of. It has to do with my gift… Long story.” Caspar sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. Then: “Oh, hey Bernie.”

Ingrid whirled once more, but Bernie was already out and sprinting in a flash, her door swinging open behind her.

“Wait! Bernadetta, I—”

“Ingrid,” Caspar gasped, placing a hand on her shoulder before she could give chase. “Look at that.”

Ingrid’s gaze followed his pointing finger past the open door of Bernie’s room, and her jaw dropped. “Did…did she make all of that for her gift? I thought she said she didn’t have anything?”

“Either that or she’s planning to open an Ignatz-themed museum,” Caspar mused. “Since we kind of chased her off, do you think we should help deliver this stuff? If it doesn’t take long. I really need to catch Annette when she wakes up.”

“I think that we should,” Ingrid said, biting her lip a bit. “I owe her an apology…I clearly underestimated her work ethic.”

Luckily, it wasn’t hard for them to spot Ignatz, who had apparently intercepted Leonie outside of the training ground and was handing her a small package.

“Hey, Ignatz!”

“Hello, Caspar. What are you...woah!”

Caspar set down the first stack of packages, pausing to catch his breath. Ingrid handed some of the more delicate-looking items directly to the boggled, bespectacled boy.

As Ignatz apparently tried to remember how to move, blink, or speak, Leonie put her own gift aside and began to inspect the stack. She whistled as she picked up a fancily-carved bow. “Wow, this is incredible. Did one of you guys make all of this?”

“Nope,” Caspar responded. “All of this is pure Bernadetta.”

“She was too shy to deliver them herself, so we decided to help out,” Ingrid explained. “This isn’t even all of it; there’s more left in her room still.”

“I…I can’t possibly accept…” Ignatz stuttered. Caspar slapped him on the back.

“Nope, sorry. It’s a gift, no returns.”  
“Do you think she’d be willing to do a collaboration with me?” Ignatz asked, eyes wide. “The artistry on all of this is beautiful… I can’t imagine how much vision went into everything. It really puts my own gift to shame…”

“Oh, right,” Leonie said, dropping a coat back onto the pile and turning back towards her own package. She ripped off the paper pensively, but broke into a big grin once she saw what it was. “Is that Captain Jeralt?! You actually got him to pose for an official portrait? He never does that!”

Ignatz smiled shyly. “It wasn’t that hard to convince him, really. I just had to work on my dodging a bit.”

“What?”

“Oh, he also wrote a personal message for you on the back. I didn’t read it myself, so you can be sure that it’s his honest feelings.”

Leonie’s smile got even wider. “Ignatz, thank you so much! I never thought I’d like some art so much.” She turned back to Caspar and Ingrid. “Hey, if you guys are helping to deliver gifts, would you mind handing this saddle over to Ferdinand? I’d like to thank Captain Jeralt too.”

“No problem,” Caspar said, taking the heap of leather (with a ribbon?) with a nod.

As Leonie dashed off, Ingrid looked confused. “I thought you were going to wait for Annette?”

“Oh crud,” Caspar gasped, and started to run back down to the second level of the dorms.

Annette wasn’t answering her door, so either she was already up or a really heavy sleeper. Maybe she was attending a seminar or something?

But the Lions classroom was empty, and the courtyard only held a dapper-looking Claude and an ecstatic Flayn.

“How did you know?” she asked, tears nearly coming to her eyes. “It’s just like back then…”

Caspar couldn’t resist a glance at the package she was holding, and Flayn turned it around and presented it with a flourish. It was a blue box with little toy fishes in it. Weird, but if Flayn was into it then okay.

“It’s my handiwork. Don’t ask me if it’s ichthyologically accurate, though,” Claude said with a wave, his cape responding to every move. Its feathers didn’t look like any Caspar’d seen in such great numbers on a cloak before…

A horrible thought struck him. “That cloak…it’s not from a dead FEH, is it?”

Claude’s smile froze. “A dead…what?”

Flayn butted in. “Of course not! It’s a gift from Petra. She’d never hurt FEH!”

“As someone who was raised in Fodlan and knows exactly what you two are talking about, I agree. I think she said the feathers are from a duck, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s in your classroom, so you can ask her yourself.”

“Oh, of course,” Caspar said with relief. “I might as well head there anyway; I need to give something to Ferdinand before I find Annette. Either of you see her, by the way?” When the two other students shook their heads, Caspar proceeded to the Black Eagles’ room and was met with a familiar sight: Linhardt passed out on the ground. The only odd thing was that Petra and Hubert were standing above him, looking worried.

“What’s up, guys?” Caspar asked, glancing around to see no Ferdinand, or anyone else besides the four of them. Darn it.

“I am feeling some worry,” Petra said, placing her hand to Lin’s forehead. “Linhardt was giving me a nice book that should be full of use…ah, useful. As I was reading it, Hubert began presenting his own gift and our friend suddenly became unconscious!”

The two of them turned to look at Hubert, who was holding a black box very tightly. “It is, ah, nothing that I can imagine.”

“Really?” Caspar said. “Wow. I know he falls asleep a lot, but I haven’t seen him just faint since the last time he got a sudden look at blood.”

“…Oh,” Hubert said.

“Yeah, Linhardt just hates blood. Like, really really hates it. Kinda weird that he’s so into Crests and healing, when you think about it.”

“Of course,” replied Hubert.

“Anyway, what did you get him? We should probably tell one of the professors about it, in case it was an allergy or something.”

“It was…this box. An empty box. There is nothing to inspect in this box,” Hubert said with a wince. “You see, I…purposefully got him something impersonal to increase Lady Edelgard’s chance of winning.”

Petra frowned at him. “That is not being very like a sportsman, Hubert. Edelgard will not be pleased to hear about it.”

“Oh yeah, Edelgard! Ferdinand was totally not being subtle about getting her,” Caspar said. “I’ve got something to hand over to him, and I also need to find Annette to give her my own gift. Have either of you seen either of them?”

“Oh,” came a soft voice from the door. Marianne was peeking her head in. “I saw him in the stables earlier…I think he said he needed to check on his gift in the woods outside the monastery. I think he’s planning on giving it to Edelgard there.”

“Thanks!” Caspar told her. “Hey, are you here to give a gift? Is it for me?”

“I am, but it’s for Hubert,” Marianne replied, fidgeting as she approached the glowering Hubert. She presented a dark wooden staff. “I’m very sorry about this…but I thought you might like it…it’s probably, well, cursed.”

Hubert brightened up as much as was possible for him, which wasn’t very much. “Ah, cursed? Please explain further.”

Caspar took his cue to leave before things got creepy.

Ferdinand and Edelgard were luckily still close to the exit to the village outside the monastery, so Caspar didn’t have to look long.

And it was even more lucky that he had come, because sweet Sothis that wolf was awesome.

“—really any kind of meat,” Ferdinand is saying as Caspar approaches. “Be sure to give him a squirt if he tries to scratch or bite. And if he tries to get on the furniture, then you should—Oh, Caspar! What are you doing here?”

“I’m delivering a gift for Leonie. What is that?” He gestured to the large wolf, which was tied to a tree with a rather thin rope and looking at him warily. Edelgard observed it carefully, a hand on her cheek.

“That is my gift for Edelgard! I trained him for her, under the belief that no gift is greater than the love of a lifelong companion!” He gestured proudly to the wolf, who growled when the hand got close.

“What’s his name?” Caspar asked with excitement.

“Ask Edelgard. It is her gift, after all.”

“I…will need some time to think about it,” Edelgard said, a hesitant tone in her voice. Caspar wasn’t sure why she wasn’t jumping for joy right now; did she not see how incredibly metal this gift was?

“Well, Leonie got you this, Ferdinand.” Caspar tossed the saddle over, only for it to be intercepted midair by the wolf’s jaws. With a growling sound, it shook the saddle to and fro.

“Drop it!” came a sudden, authoritative call from Edelgard. Sheepishly, the wolf let the saddle fall and looked down sadly.

“He really list—I mean, naturally he listened, as a result of the excellent training I’ve given him,” said Ferdinand with a nervous laugh, as he retrieved the now slightly tattered saddle. “Though speaking of training, this training saddle is quite nice as well, of course!”

Edelgard reached out and began to scratch the wolf behind his ear, a small smile creeping onto her face. “Thank you, Ferdinand. I think that this will end up making me very happy.”

By now it was lunchtime, so the newly unencumbered Caspar decided to see if Annette was in the dining hall. She wasn’t, but a truly insane amount of meat was.

And also dogs and cats.

But mostly meat.

Raphael was doing an admirable job of taking down the dishes and dishes of protein before him. Caspar saw a sausage stew, a plate of baked chicken, and some loach on skewers disappear before he could so much as blink. He was envious; he’d though he could scarf down a lot, but he wasn’t sure that he could tackle that much food.

And as he was marveling, Ashe came out of the kitchen holding a tray with even more meat! How much was there?!

Ashe dropped a few chunks of beef and liver on the floor for the eager crowd of monastery animals, stopped to grab the little chunks of metal they gave in return, and then placed a large roast in front of Raphael. “Thanks, buddy!” Raphael said. “You can have some if you want, Caspar. The cats are sharing, so you should too!”

As Raphael and Ashe smiled over at him, Caspar realized that he was drooling. Well, as long as he was here…

Around three courses later, Caspar remembered why he’d come. “Ashe, you’re a Blue Lion. Do you know where Annette usually hangs out?”

Ashe thought for a moment. “I don’t believe that she has any chores for the day, so she might be in the library studying. If not she tends to spend time with Mercedes, around the chapel or one of the foyers.”

“Hey, if she is with Mercedes and you find them, could you do me a solid and send Mercedes over here? I’ve got an awesome gift to give her!” Raphael gestured to the side of the table, where a stool dappled with bright rainbow colors sat. It had a pillowtop, which was adorned with images of a cute, slightly gremlin-ish girl with a halo eating candy, picking flowers, summoning ghosts, and…wait, was the girl supposed to be the goddess?

“Huh,” Caspar mused. “That’s what girls like?”

As Caspar cut across the gardens to check the chapel, he noticed Dimitri and Lorenz, sitting together for tea. Lorenz seemed to be in the middle of a long speech, to which Dimitri was smiling and nodding with a glazed-over look in his eyes. He snapped out of it and jumped up when Caspar walked past.

“Caspar, wait!” Dimitri paused, and turned apologetically to the affronted Lorenz. “I’m very sorry, I just need to give him something. I’ll be happy to hear more about your…military uniform proposals, and trade options, and rules of decorum in a minute.”

“Of course, it is no bother,” said Lorenz in such a polite and gracious way that Caspar was pretty sure that it was actually a bother.

But more importantly: “Awesome, are you the one who got me a gift, Dimitri?”

“Yes,” the prince nodded. He reached under the table and pulled out a dark metal shield. “I’m sorry that it’s not the neatest-looking thing in the world, but I forged it myself out of an especially tough, heavy ore. I hope that you like it.”

“Cool!” Caspar responded as he took the shield from Dimitri’s outstretched hands. He promptly felt gravity’s punishment for such a brazen action. “Gah!”

The ore was certainly heavy, alright. Caspar grunted with exertion as he strained to lift the little round shield, which felt like it was doing its best to pull him down through the core of the planet.

Lifting with his legs (not his back), Caspar managed to stand with the shield in his arms. “This is great,” he wheezed out, as Dimitri and Lorenz stared with concern. “This is going to help me work out so much. I’m going to get so built!”

And then he tried to move and dropped it on his foot.

“I am truly so sorry about this,” Dimitri said contritely as he carried Caspar up the stairs.

“Not your fault, man,” said Caspar through gritted teeth. “I am going to get so much stronger and carry the hell out of that shield. With one hand!”

Dimitri nodded, and walked through the infirmary door. Luckily, Manuela was bother present and (apparently) sober. Lysithea was looking through some of her books. Oddly enough, there was another guy there as well.

“Lord Rodrigue? What are you doing here?” Dimitri asked as Manuela set about fussing over Caspar’s foot. The painkilling effect of the healing magic was a sweet, sweet balm.

“Felix told me that Professor Manuela has been considering writing an opera about your father’s life, and she’s asked me to serve as a consultant,” the Lord replied.

“We’re going to talk about it over dinner,” Manuela said, giving Caspar and Lysithea an exaggerated wink away from the eyes of the two Faerghans. They shuddered.

“What did you do to your foot?” Lysithea asked.

“I was wondering that myself. It looks like an animate mountain stepped on it,” Manuela agreed as she began to pull out materials for a cast.

“I dropped a shield on it,” Caspar told him. The two women looked at him. “It was a really really heavy shield, okay! Anyway, why are you even here, Lysithea?”

“Just double-checking some medical information. I made a manual of horse medicine for Marianne, and I want to be sure,” Lysithea said. “It’s hard to believe that everything says that you should just let them die if they break a leg. So what if horses aren’t supposed to live with broken legs? Just because we haven’t found a way to fix it yet doesn’t mean we’re never going to! Sure, as long as they’re alive, they’re in pain, and they can’t walk or run, and it will never heal on its own… But it still feels like quitting just to let it die like that!”

“I mean, if they’re just going to suffer, and there’s nothing we can do about it, isn’t it kinder to just let them die peacefully?” Manuela asked.

Lysithea burst into tears and ran out of the room.

A few minutes later, Caspar hobbled after her, supported by a crutch, a cast, and an anxious Dimitri as spotter. Surprisingly, Lysithea was still there in the hallway, seemingly calm but with red rims still around her eyes, conversing with Dedue.

“—Will help with memory retention and concentration, as least as far as the conventional knowledge goes,” the man of Duscur told her. Lysithea was sniffing a small bag with little bits of herb sticking out.

“It’s really nice,” she told him. “It smells like flowers mixed with sugar! And if it’ll help me learn, that’s even better.”

Dedue smiled. “It means the world to me that you appreciate my family’s tradition. I hope that it serves you well.”

As Lysithea dashed off, Dedue seemed to notice Caspar and Dimitri. “Your Highness! I apologize that it took me so long. I only just heard that you went to the infirmary.”

“It was me who was hurt. I dropped a shield on my foot.”

“It was my fault,” Dimitri said, downcast.

Dedue paused. “With all respect, how was it your fault that he dropped a—”

“It wasn’t, he’s being weird, hey what’s that?”

He gestured towards a piece of rolled-up fabric that Dedue was carrying. The man of Duscur unfurled it: it was a mini-tapestry, containing a gothic scene of a winged dude surrounded by storms and lightning.

“It is a ritual representation of one of Duscur’s war gods. Mercedes was kind enough to make it for me,” Dedue replied, with a small smile. “Such a representation traditionally confers blessings in battle. It’s quite a thoughtful gift for a guardian like me.”

Caspar’s first thought was a wish that Fodlan’s own Goddess could be that cool. His second was: “Wait, you saw Mercedes? Was Annette with her? My gift for her is kind of time sensitive, and I really should have given it to her a while ago…”

Dedue shook his head. “No, Mercedes was alone. She should still be in the library, though, if you want to ask her about Annette. They do spend most of their time together.”

“I’ll help you along! It’s the least I can do,” Dimitri offered again.

“I’ll be fine! Seriously! Besides, shouldn’t you get back to Lorenz’s tea party?”

Dimitri wilted. “Yes, I…suppose that I should do that. Please send a messenger, though, if you need any help at all. Or, if you prefer, Dedue could…”

“Nope! Bye!” Caspar cried, hobbling off as fast as he could. Geez, if Prince Dimitri didn’t get over that guilt complex soon he might end up going over the deep end!

As promised, Mercedes was seated near the door to the library, poring over a thick tome filled with illustrations of skeletons.

Caspar awkwardly patted her on the shoulder, hoping he wasn’t interrupting an important anatomy lesson. “Hey, Mercedes… I don’t mean to bother you, but have you seen Annette anywhere?”

Mercedes looked up at him and shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t seen her at all today. Are you looking for her?”

“Yeah, I really need to give her a gift. Do you have any idea where she might be, at all?”

Mercedes hummed. “I’m not sure. She was on a gift-giving mission herself today…”

“She’s looking for Hilda. Probably in the market somewhere.”

Caspar and Mercedes turned in unison to look at Cyril, who was dusting a table behind them.

After a pause, Cyril sighed. “She gave me some fancy soap stuff to make my skin softer or something? I don’t know, it smells really good. But she was supposed to give it to Hilda, so she said she’d look for her in the market. And, um, if you do find her, tell her that I’m super grateful for it. I don’t get nice things very often so I’m not sure if I acted right, but it really does mean a lot…”

As the red-faced younger boy hurried off to dust some more, Caspar grinned at Mercedes. “Well, I guess that answers my question. By the way, I think Raphael has something for you in the dining hall.”

Mercedes grinned right back, and gathered up her book, ‘The Undead and You: A Necromance.’ “Well, I guess I’ll be off then. The library hasn’t been as strict about books since the librarian turned out to be a death cultist, so I think I’ll get away with just taking this. Do you need any help walking?”

“Nah, I haven’t tried stairs yet but I doubt they’ll be a problem.”

Stairs were a problem, Caspar reflected, as he rested his aching, cast-covered foot and glared back at the three flights of stairs he’d had to traverse to get to the market. Whose idea was it to put the monastery on a mountain, anyway?

But Hilda was mercifully easy to spot, so he had to give the Goddess that at least.

The beacon of bright pink was standing next to a wary-looking Felix. Scratch that, an oddly stylish wary-looking Felix.

“You have your ears pierced? Looks good,” Caspar told him as a way of announcing his presence. In return, he got a glare from Felix and a smug smile from Hilda.

“Told you—”

“I don’t care how they look. They’re useful in battle.”

“…Of course. You do you.”

“Hey Hilda, have you seen Annette? I heard she had a gift for you, and I have something for her,” Caspar asked.

“Oh yeah, I did! She gave me some adorable, scented soap just a few minutes ago,” Hilda replied. “I think she was going into the main courtyards. Hurry and you can catch her!”

Caspar hobbled as fast as he could hobble with one shattered foot. (He’d show that stupid shield by becoming super strong, and wielding it like it was nothing, and being a legend for it. Then that shield would be sorry). Unfortunately, that still wasn’t particularly fast.

But finally, finally luck was on his side. He spotted the back of Annette’s head as he approached the courtyard in front of the classrooms. He called out her name, even as she was distracted by whatever had gathered her and the rest of the crowd of monastery-goers that were observing the open fields. Caspar approached, and saw…

…Well, he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. All he knew was that a red-faced Dorothea was extremely mad at a sheepish-looking Sylvain for some reason.

“ANYTHING IS FINE IS NOT AN ANSWER.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m serious. I’m not picky with gifts. Whatever you want will be good.”

“GIVE ME A GODDESSDAMNED CLUE BEFORE I JUST SING THE ALPHABET SONG AS YOUR PRESENT.”

“I really don’t care. I mean, you’re cute and talented enough that any song—” Sylvain managed to get out, before Dorothea’s slap cut him off.

Caspar tapped Annette on the shoulder. “Uh, I don’t mean to interrupt your viewing, but I have something for you.”

Annette giggled. “I’m so excited! Did you really get me something you need to hide this carefully?”

Caspar grinned back at her. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s not really something I could give you anywhere else…”

The questions were warranted, given that Caspar was leading her deep into the dungeons that were normally off-limits to the monastery’s inhabitants. Really, he was lucky that he’d thought to buy a few Door Keys a few moons ago, when he was sure that Lin’s curiosity would end up getting him arrested.

But that hadn’t happened, so instead they were letting Caspar answer Annette’s smiling face with something that she knew would mean the world to her. He stopped in front of a locked door, ad flourished his crutch at it. “Inside here, you’ll see the best gift that anyone could think of, ever!”

Annette put the key in the lock, and then glanced at him before she turned it. With a grin and a nod, he gave her the go-ahead. Caspar watched as her face turned to alarm, then surprise, then wonder.

With all his bruises paid-off, Caspar gestured to the bound and gagged knight inside the room. Gilbert had been a bit stronger than he’d expected, but still no match for a good hit behind the knees. “As my gift: one deadbeat dad, officially un-deadbeated!”

Sothis poked at her host’s cheek. “So, which of the children are you going to give the victory to?”

“Well, Ferdinand, Hubert, and Caspar should all be automatically disqualified, and neither Felix nor Sylvain seem to have been their gifts’ primary creators. Really everyone else deserves recognition for their efforts, and...”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Sothis replied. “Bernie wins and you know it.”

“She definitely had the best results,” Byleth admitted. “My only issue is that I’m not sure if she actually wants to get the prize lessons.”

“Eh,” Sothis replied, “not like it’d be the worst gift around here.”


End file.
